Midnight Thief (20 page)

Tristam gritted his teeth. “Of course it is. What do you think I am?”

“A wallhugger. Who’s used to taking what he wants and leaving others to pick up the pieces.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” said Tristam, and walked away.

But he couldn’t quite leave Flick’s words behind. How did he really feel about Kyra? She was like no one he’d ever met before, and he couldn’t deny that she was beautiful when she worked. Tristam once again saw her playful smile when she’d teased him about being fat. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened, only that they’d both realized what shaky footing they were on. When Kyra had moved to distance herself from him, he’d let her. He was her jailer, and she was his prisoner. For the hundredth time, he told himself to remember that.

A runner appeared in the distance. Both Tristam and Flick snapped to attention, but Flick shook his head. “It’s not her. Too heavy on his feet.”

It was one of Tristam’s soldiers, running as fast as he could. Tristam climbed down the ladder to meet him, with Flick just behind.

The man was breathing heavily. “The Demon Riders took her.”

“What? How—”

Next to Tristam, Flick started to swear.

“One of our scouts saw Demon Riders carry her away. She was alive, but there was a lot of blood.”

Dread filled his chest at those last words. “Where did you see her?”

The messenger pointed, and Tristam sprinted off in that direction. He heard Flick’s footsteps pounding behind him and sped up even faster, as if he could outrun the voice of guilt. He thought he’d been prepared for anything—but Demon Riders?

A cluster of shieldmen was waiting for him farther down. Martin was amongst them, pacing back and forth as a crowd of distraught beagles swarmed around him.

“We saw them leaving,” Martin said, shaking his head helplessly. “They lost us in the alleys. The dogs just refused to follow.”

There was a scatter of gravel behind him as Flick caught up. “What’s going on?”

Tristam started to answer, but couldn’t. In his mind, he saw Jack torn open from shoulder to hip and refused to imagine Kyra in his place. He tore his gaze from Flick and addressed Martin instead.

“They most likely headed toward the forest,” he said, paying no heed to Flick’s expletives. They couldn’t lose her. “Search the entire area. We don’t rest tonight until she’s back safe.”

T W E N T Y - N I N E

T
hey carried her through the streets, heading quickly toward the outskirts. She made a few halfhearted attempts to struggle, but each effort sent such pain through her body that she had to stop. After a while, Kyra just lay limply, resigned to her fate. She should have been more afraid, but Kyra found she no longer cared. She was dying. She could feel it, and it didn’t matter at this point how it would finally happen. She just hoped it wouldn’t hurt any worse.

The man who carried her was tall, with long black hair, sharp cheekbones, and a strong nose. He wore the leather tunic she had seen on the other Demon Riders. Besides the occasional flash of leather and dark blond hair, she couldn’t get a good look at the woman beside him.

The sound of rustling leaves grew louder until it surrounded her on all sides. Branches passed perilously close to her face. They didn’t go very far into the forest before the woman asked a question in that strange language. The man stopped and laid Kyra carefully on the dirt.

Were the demon cats somewhere around here? She didn’t see or hear anything besides the man and woman. They were talking again, and the woman moved back a few paces. In a few graceful movements, she stepped out of her trousers and untied her tunic, letting it fall behind her.

Kyra blinked. Her eyes were failing; she couldn’t make out the woman’s features anymore. Then she realized it wasn’t her vision. The woman’s entire shape was blurring and expanding. Her torso lengthened and the skin of her body became soft with thick yellow hairs. Her face changed as well. The nose became broad and flat, eyes larger and more angular, and her teeth grew and sharpened into fangs. Soon, the woman had disappeared, and in her place stood a giant yellow wildcat. The beast shook itself and advanced toward her.

Kyra screamed and once again tried to move. This time, the sight of the creature gave her strength, and she lifted herself onto one elbow despite the searing pain in her abdomen.

“Don’t move,” the man shouted, and jumped down, pinning her shoulders with his forearm. She squirmed. A soft weight pressed on her hip—the demon cat’s paw, she realized with growing panic. She kicked vainly into the air before her strength left her and she lay, exhausted, watching with muted horror as the cat bared its teeth and lowered its head to her abdomen.

There was the sound of ripping cloth, and more pain. She shuddered, but the man’s weight on her shoulders and the cat’s on her hip held her firmly. Her stomach felt warm and wet. Was she bleeding again?

The moment of clarity faded, and her thoughts once again clouded from pain and blood loss. She was glad though, because there was no way she could survive this for much longer. It would be over before long, she told herself, and sure enough, everything soon faded.

Kyra floated in and out of nightmares. Sometimes the cat people carried her through the forest. Other times, they chased her, held her down, and fed on her entrails. At one point, someone forced her mouth open. Kyra gagged at the taste of blood and spat out what they fed her. The next time, they held broth to her lips. It scorched her tongue, but she kept it down.

Slowly, the world reassembled itself. She wasn’t dead. She hurt too much for that. And eventually her eyes stayed open. She lay in a makeshift shelter, a cloth strung between two trees. She felt cloth beneath her too, but it wasn’t thick enough to keep roots and stones from digging into her back.

Memories of the Guild came rushing back. James was planning a new raid. She needed to warn the Palace. Kyra shifted, and pain once again shot through her abdomen. She looked down to see her entire midsection wrapped in bandages. She moaned. There was a flicker of movement to her right, and a woman’s face appeared above her.

It was the same woman who had transformed into a beast. Or had Kyra just dreamed it? Kyra lay still and watched her warily. If the woman wished her harm, Kyra would not have the strength to resist.

The stranger spoke, but the words didn’t make sense. Only when she repeated herself did Kyra realize the woman was speaking the common tongue, just with a heavy accent.

“Which clan sired you?” she was asking.

“What?”

“What clan sired you?”

“What are you talking about?”

The woman stared at her. “You really don’t know? We assumed you were confused from your blood loss.” Kyra didn’t have a chance to ponder the woman’s words before she spoke again. “We can talk, but after I tend your wounds.”

Kyra couldn’t hold back a groan as the Demon Rider lifted Kyra’s torso and propped up her head and shoulders. She unraveled Kyra’s bandages with an expert touch. When the soiled cloths were piled to the side, the woman fixed her with a stern gaze.

“You’ll stay down this time? There’s no one to hold you for me.”

With one last glance at Kyra, she stepped back and untied her belt. She wore a strange tunic that wrapped around in front. The woman opened the tunic and shrugged her arms out of the sleeves. Before her clothes hit the ground, she was blurring again in the same way Kyra remembered. The woman’s body seemed to lose form like a candle in the heat before remolding itself into a new shape. A few heartbeats later, Kyra knew for certain that her nightmares had been real.

Up close, the creature was fearsome, with long, sinewy muscles that moved under dense yellow fur. Its long tail swished languidly behind it. Kyra held back a scream as the demon cat advanced. If it wanted to eat her, it would have done so already. Still, it was all she could do to stay still as one paw once again pressed down on her hip. The cat ran its tongue firmly but gently over her midsection. Kyra flinched at the sandpaper touch and the sting of saliva on her cuts.

The cat wasn’t eating her. It was cleaning her wounds.

The realization knocked any last bit of energy from Kyra. She let her head fall back and concentrated on not passing out. The beast’s tongue was forceful and rocked Kyra’s body back and forth with each stroke. Eventually, the demon cat stepped back and blurred into human form.

So the rumors about the Demon Riders were wrong. They didn’t find cats and raise them as their children, as people had whispered at The Drunken Dog. They
were
the cats. The Demon Riders were shape-shifters, Brendel’s felbeasts come to life. The stories had some truth to them after all.

Kyra’s mind raced as pieces fell into place. She thought back to the marketplace raid, at how intelligently the demon cats had behaved. Then there was her trip to the forest. Before the fire, she’d spied a line of Demon Riders walking to the city, but once Kyra and Tristam arrived at Forge, they’d only found cats. And Tristam had never been able to find humans camping in these forests….

“What are you?” Kyra whispered.

Beside her, the cat woman retied her tunic. “Answer me first. Where are you from? Who sired you?”

“Who sired me?” Kyra said, shrinking away. “I’m an orphan.”

“You were raised by humans, then.”

“What?”

The cat woman stepped back again, shaking her head in disbelief. She raised her hand to her mouth and sank her teeth into her own palm. Kyra gasped. When the woman held out her hand again, it was dotted with specks of blood.

“Smell it.”

Kyra flinched away, but the woman kept her hand in front of Kyra’s face. It smelled like blood. Too much like the stuff of her nightmares for comfort. Obviously frustrated by Kyra’s blank expression, the woman scooped up Kyra’s bloody bandages and thrust them under her nose.

“Can you not tell? Even in your skin, you can smell our blood.”

Kyra noticed it then. There was a common element, a musky smell that made her think of long hunts through the forest.

No, that was just her imagination running wild. For all she knew, everybody’s blood smelled like that.

Seeing Kyra’s expression, the woman pulled back. “Our blood runs through your veins. What is your name?”

“Kyra.” The word came out through numb lips.

The woman knelt down and took Kyra’s hands. “Kyra. My name is Pashla,” she said. “I, like you, am a daughter of the Makvani.”

T H I R T Y

K
yra pulled her hand back, lightly at first, then with increasing insistence until she wrenched her hand away.

“No, you’re wrong.”

Once again, Kyra saw the demon cats chasing down their victims. She heard the wounded moaning in the street.

Pashla reached for her again, but Kyra pushed the woman away. “Stay away from me.” Kyra struggled to sit up, barely aware of Pashla’s protests and the pain arcing down her torso. Who were these monsters? Kyra gritted her teeth and tried again. She needed to leave.

A slap across her face stopped her short. Kyra slumped back, peering at Pashla through watery eyes, terrified that the woman would change shape again.

“Your wounds are fresh. If you struggle, you will die. If you can’t understand that, I will tie you down.”

Kyra stared at the woman. “You’ve made a mistake.”

“You’ve noticed that you’re different, have you not? You can see better, do things the humans can’t.”

“There are others who can move like me,” Kyra said.
Like
her, but not exactly, a small voice insisted. No one else from the Guild could have broken into the Palace like she had.

“And you smelled our blood in your own. You can’t deny it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Very well, tell me this. How do other animals treat you? Do they fear your scent?”

“I’m a dog talker,” Kyra said. “But there are plenty of dog talkers in Forge.”

For the first time, Pashla looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“We call them beast talkers. Animals are drawn to them and do their bidding…” Kyra trailed off upon hearing her own words. The truth was, she’d never been a proper beast talker. Amongst the street children, there had once been a bird talker. Birds had flocked to him and sung him songs, perched on his arms. They’d adored him. Animals had never responded to Kyra like that.

“They fear you, don’t they?” said Pashla. “They cower or run away or panic. If our blood was weaker in someone, diluted by generations, perhaps animals would be drawn to him. But with you, they would flee.”

Pashla gathered Kyra’s soiled bandages. Kyra watched the way Pashla walked, the grace with which she negotiated the uneven floor. She felt an involuntary tightening in her own limbs as part of her recognized the woman’s movements as her own.

When Pashla returned, she made no further effort to convince Kyra, but settled in front of her and waited.

“There must be some mistake. I never even knew you existed. And I can’t—” Kyra waved her hand vaguely toward the corner of the tent where the woman had changed shape. “If I were one of you, I’d know.”

The woman nodded. “Your blood is mixed, and the ability to change shape doesn’t always pass on to those with human blood. But you’re right. Even if you couldn’t change, you would know. It would show through in dreams and the way you move, see, and smell, the speed with which you heal, or a preference for the darkness….”

The woman continued, but Kyra stopped listening. She was suddenly inundated with memories of countless nights roaming the city. Kyra had always thought she was nocturnal because her job demanded it, but if she was honest with herself, that wasn’t the whole story. Kyra had chosen that life
because
she loved the darkness. It had felt natural, safe somehow. Even now, she found herself longing for a shadow to hide in. Unbidden, the puzzling memory of someone carrying her through the forest came into her mind. And what about her childhood nightmares, the ones with the bright heat and sharp fangs?

“Have you killed?” asked Pashla.

Kyra went still. Did they know?

“If you’ve hunted or taken a life, our blood would call to you.”

Bile rose in her stomach. “What do you want from me?”

“Tell me about yourself first. What do you do for James?”

The question grounded her and reminded her to be careful. They didn’t know she had left the Guild. That meant they didn’t know that she had been working with the Palace against them.

“He hired me to sneak into the Palace. As you said, I can do things they can’t.”

“And why did James want to kill you?”

Kyra hesitated for as long as she dared. “I went against his orders. He wanted me to kill the Minister of Defense,” she finally said.

“Why didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t part of our original agreement. He hired me as a thief, not an assassin.”

“And he tried to kill you when you refused him?”

“Aye.”

Pashla seemed to accept her answers. “A few months ago, we raided a marketplace in the city; do you remember that, Kyra?”

“I do.” How could she not?

“I was the one who chased you onto the rooftop.”

For a split second, Kyra relived that moment, watching the creature delicately sniff, then taste, her blood. She had thought that the cat had retreated because of the arriving soldiers.

“That’s why you spared me.”

Pashla nodded, eyes distant. “We’ve known about you since the attack. Afterward, I told Leyus about you, but we never saw you again. It was only when we heard you scream at the Guildhouse. The smell of your blood was so thick in the room. It was unmistakable.”

“Who’s Leyus?”

“Our leader. We’ll talk to him tomorrow, now that you’re awake. He will decide your fate.”